Poison
by ViennaSunset
Summary: No longer a oneshot. John has to suck poison out of Sherlock's neck after he gets in the way of a poison dart. Although that bruise is going to be very awkward to explain...
1. Chapter 1

**I suppose this is sort of John/Sherlock-esque. I wouldn't call it slash though, I'd say it's more true to the characters. Friendship and stuff. General banter. Anyways it's 2AM and I'm tired. Excuse the mistakes, but we can all bask in the JohnLock Love. ;) R&R would be delightful.**

**Enjoy x**

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><p><strong>P O I S O N<strong>

**ONESHOT**

Panting, they stopped under a street lamp, the amber glow jaundicing their skin. John could feel the muscles between his ribs burning with each breath; running had never been his forte. There was a light rain in the air, refreshingly cool on their heated skin. Sherlock pushed his fingers into his temples and screwed his eyes closed.

"Where did he go?" John spun on his heel, peering back the way they'd come. No use, the street was pitch black; he could barely see a hand in front of his face.

"Shut up, John. Mind palace."

"Do you want me to run on, see if I can catch him, or what?"  
>"John." Sherlock, hissed, "I said shut u-"<p>

There was a sound; sharp and fast, like a whistle, stopping abruptly as he tried to finish his sentence. Sherlock's hands dropped from his temples to his neck, fingers parting. In the streetlight, Sherlock's eyes glistened, widening as his leather clad hands found the foreign object protruding from his neck.

"John." Sherlock's breath was steady, a gentle rasp creeping over the edges, "I don't mean to alarm you, but I've been shot."

"Don't piss me about Sherlock-" The doctor turned, then faltered as the detective violently pulled a large black dart from the point just above his collarbone. Sherlock stood for a moment, one hand clamped to his bleeding neck, while in the other he twiddled the dart. A viscous pale fluid bled onto his gloves.

"Poison." Sherlock stated, "Probably from some kind of frog or snake. Oh no. Wait." At this his legs suddenly gave way and he fell against the lamppost, his black coat pooling around him as he sunk to the floor.

"Christ." John skidded onto his knees beside his friend, trying to prise his hands away from his neck. "Don't move, Sherlock, don't move..."

"Oh I shan't, John." Sherlock said matter-of-factly, "Curare; typical paralysing arrow poison. Bloody good shot too."  
>"Move your hands." John instructed, "I'm going to have to suck it out."<p>

"I beg your pardon?" Sherlock queried, his speech alarmingly already beginning to slur.

"Move your hands, Sherlock. Quickly." John pulled Sherlock's hands from his neck and inspected the area around his collarbone. A small trickle of blood seeped over the bow of the bone, down onto his shirt. John titled Sherlock's head up towards the light, using his sleeve to remove the blood.

"Right you're going to feel some pressure, and it might hurt a bit." John informed him, "Just close your eyes and squeeze my arm or something."  
>"For God's sake, John I'm not one of your patients."<p>

The doctor licked his lips and angled his mouth at Sherlock's collarbone, over the wound. His teeth anchored into his skin, the taste of the detectives aftershave mixed with the dew of the rainfall congregating in his mouth. Slowly he pulsed his mouth, sucking at the skin around the wound. The acidic taste of poison hit his tongue after a few seconds and he fought the impulse to gag. Pulling away he spat onto the pavement before reattaching his mouth to Sherlock's neck. Sherlock's eyes were squeezed shut, fighting the double assault on his neck, his hand clenched around John's wrist, nails digging into his skin. John tasted the metallic tinge of blood. Spitting, his thoughts were confirmed; flecks of Sherlock's blood littered the pavement along with spit and poison.

Breathing a heavy sigh, John collapsed with his back against the lamppost, using his sleeve to wipe the taste of poison and blood from his tongue.

"It's gone. It's gone…" John nudged Sherlock with his arm, "You okay?"

"Give me a minute."  
>They sat in silence, both trying to get their breath back. John wondered for a moment what might have happened had he run off to apprehend the man they were chasing. Would he have been shot in the neck? Would Sherlock have been left alone? He shuddered and spat again.<p>

"Show me your neck." John angled Sherlock's head towards the light. The dart had left a pin prick mark, however the purple, mottled mark around it lit the whole thing up like a Christmas tree.

"How is it?" Sherlock asked, trying to gage the severity by John's reaction.

"Erm…" John stammered, trying to find the right words to tell his friend that he may have just given him an accidental love bite, "You have a scarf at home, don't you?"

Sherlock sighed, clamping his hand back to his neck, wincing as his hand brushed the bruise. John attempted to pull Sherlock by the arm,

"Come on let's get you home. We can check your legs are working and get some anti-septic on it."

"Thank you, John." It was so quiet John almost didn't hear it. In fact he was pretty sure Sherlock didn't want him to hear it. But he did. Instead he ignored it, and helped the man to his feet.

"Where have you boys been all this time?" Mrs Hudson came barging out of her flat, nightgown swooshing about by her feet as she unlocked the door.

"Nothing to worry about Mrs Hudson, just a slight delay on our journey." Sherlock marched in, the walk home obviously perking him up somewhat. John lagged behind, still trying to remove traces of poison from his lips.

"I've had people knocking on the door, asking for you. I missed most of Taggart."

"Bloody idiot. Every episode the murderer is staring him in the face in the first five minutes. Too bloody obvious if you ask me, even a chimp could figure it out-" Sherlock muttered under his breath.  
>"So sorry Mrs Hudson." John apologised, still wiping his mouth. Mrs Hudson turned to Sherlock and opened her mouth to speak. Instead, however, she cocked her head to one side and furrowed her brow.<p>

"Sherlock, what have you got on your neck?"

Silence. The two men shifted uncomfortably and John stopped trying to wipe his mouth. Quickly she looked from one man to the other, before mumbling something embarrassedly.

"Nothing to worry about Mrs Hudson, just a minor issue that had to be sucked out." Sherlock smiled smartly and spun on his heel, leaping up the steps two a time. John, mouth slightly agape, tried to explain, but Mrs Hudson mumbled something about bed and tiredness and left him alone in the lobby.

"Brilliant." He said aloud, before starting to climb the steps, "Just brilliant."


	2. Chapter 2

**Yep. It was originally supposed to be a oneshot. Yes. But I had some gorgeous reviews on it and somebody recommended I write a chapter seeing what happened when Lestrade or somebody see's the mark on Sherlock's neck. I thought Molly would be a good one, because obviously her love for him etc. Plus I do love the Molly/Sherlock dynamic (mostly because my name is Molly and I secretly want her to get with him lol). But yes.**

**Please enjoy, let me know what you think :) More JohnLocky moments.**

**xx**

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><p><strong>P O I S O N<strong>

R E P E R C U S S I O N S

Sherlock sat in the lab, inspecting the dart while John busied himself with a newspaper in the corner.

"So it wasn't the bloke we were chasing?" John asked again, for the umpteenth time that morning. Sherlock glared over before twisting the lens of the microscope.

"No man who'd run that fast would've been able to master such as steady shot." Sherlock answered.

"Could have been a marksman. Shooting well under pressure-"

"No. His thumbs." Sherlock answered dismissively. After a pause from John he sighed, "No indents on the pad or around the joint; he's probably never even seen a dart like this."  
>"But then who-"<p>

"I've got a lot of enemies, John." Sherlock stated, his eyes fixed firmly to the microscope. John huffed dejectedly and buried his head back into his newspaper. As if on cue the door to the lab swung open, and Molly bounded in, two cups of coffee on a tray.

"Morning!" Her face was too fresh and happy for somebody who sliced cadavers for a living. Sherlock's rude silence pushed John into answering for his friend.

"Good morning, Molly. That for me?" He motioned towards the cup on the tray.

"Actually, I thought maybe Sherlock…"

"Busy." Sherlock interrupted not even acknowledging her efforts. Molly looked down at the cups, a little forlorn and shrugged.

"I suppose you could have mine, John. I don't take sugar."

"Perfect." John answered, taking a sip. "Just might go and add a tad more milk."

Molly rounded on Sherlock, making it her business to have a look at the papers scattered on the table.

"New case?" She asked Sherlock. Silence. She looked around awkwardly, "Greg said he might pop in later. I think he wanted to see you."

"Who?" Sherlock asked, attention not moving from the microscope.

"Greg?" She paused, it soon became blindingly obvious that Sherlock hadn't the foggiest what Lestrade's first name was, "DI Greg Lestrade?"

"Oh." Sherlock sniffed and pulled away from the microscope, "Probably nothing important. Did he say what time he'd be here?"

If Molly had a tail it probably would have wagged at the fact Sherlock had asked her a question. Even the dullest, rudest question meant he'd generated some sort of conversation with her.

"I don't know, um, about two o'clock I think."  
>"Oh well we better be making a move. Where is John?" Sherlock briskly spun around on his stool, slightly alarmed at the close proximity Molly was to him.<p>

"Well Greg will be here soon…" Molly said, slightly perplexed.

"All the more reason to be making a move, then." Sherlock leaned over the desk, collecting together all the loose articles of paper and the dart. Squinting her eyes, Molly moved closer before gasping a little.

"Oh my God, what have you done to your neck?" She moved closer and tilted her head slightly, "It looks like a…oh." She quickly retreated, embarrassed if not slightly hurt.

"It's nothing." Sherlock stuffed the dart into his pocket and turned to leave. "I'm fine thank you, Molly."

"Who…who did that?" Molly asked before her brain could edit her words. The door flipped open and John walked back in stirring his coffee, Lestrade in tow. Sherlock's eyes rolled to the ceiling. _Great_.

"Sherlock do you not answer your phone anymore?" Lestrade stood beside Molly as looked at the papers Sherlock had collected, "Going somewhere?"  
>"Yes." Sherlock said quickly, no time for niceties, "John, you ready?"<p>

"Sherlock's hurt his neck." Molly whispered to the DI, swallowing as she looked with hurt back at the detective.

"I said I'm fine, Molly!" Sherlock barked back, trying to ignore the awkward way in which John's face had blushed.

"What?" Lestrade angled his head slightly to see the mark, confusion etched on his face, "Is that a…"

"No." John answered for him. Molly and Lestrade looked between the two men, with some confusion.

"You two?" Lestrade cried, the shock evidently taking a hold of his vocal chords.

"No!" The men shouted again in unison, perhaps with a little more protest than necessary. John stumbled forward, "I can explain. He was shot, with a dart and the poison…it, well I had to suck it out and it just, the mark, just…"

"Wait, wait…" Lestrade held up his hands, "Let me get this straight. You were shot with a dart."

"Yes." Sherlock nodded, failing to see the failure to comprehend.

"And you," Lestrade pointed a finger at John, "Had to 'suck out' the poison."

"Yes." John answered, his face flushed, "Yes, that's it."

"And the dart went in his neck?" Molly interjected, still not entirely convinced. Sherlock pulled the dart from his pocket and handed it over, "There you go."

"It's very bruised." Molly noticed, "It must have had a lot of poison in it."

"Enough to kill a man." Sherlock turned to John, "Right, now that's cleared up, we better be off. Have a nice day inspector. Molly."

John placed his full cup of cold coffee on the side and nodded an embarrassed farewell to them, hurrying after Sherlock who was winding a scarf around his neck.

"Why didn't you just explain that to them yourself instead of being all secretive and awkward?" John snapped, pacing after the detective.

"Tell them what? You told them what happened." Sherlock pointed out, "Do they need to be told twice?"  
>"Only after everyone thought I'd given you…you know."<br>"What?" Sherlock genuinely looked confused, "It's perfectly obvious that I've been shot in the neck and you've sucked the poison out."

"To you, perhaps and your weird observing eye."

"What else would it be?" Sherlock stopped momentarily, pulling on his gloves. John paused, open mouthed.

"Really?" John shook his head, "Oh God, really? I'm not spelling it out to you."

"Whatever, John. Hurry up, I don't want Lestrade catching up with us." Sherlock practically sprinted out the door, "And John? My observing eye is not weird."

Lestrade held the dart up to the light. "The things Sherlock Holmes will do to get himself out of bother is beyond me."

"What do you mean?" Molly began collecting the mugs from the table.

"Bring a dart and fill it with poison to make it look like he'd been shot, all to hide a lovebite." Molly felt a pang behind her ribs at Lestrade's words.

"But John said that he'd been shot."

"Oh come on Molly, you can't be that naïve, surely." Lestrade threw the dart onto the table and sighed, "I always wondered who'd be the person to crack Holmes. Never thought it'd be a soldier, though."

"You don't think they…" Molly trailed off. She'd never really noticed anything like that between them. She wondered if it was because she was blinded by her own attraction to the detective.

"You've known Sherlock about as long as I have," Lestrade reminded her, "You know he can barely stand the company of most people for more than an hour. So why is Watson so special?"

"I just thought they were friends." Molly sighed innocently. "He never looks that way at anybody."

"Hmm." Lestrade sniffed. He had the feeling he'd upset her. Everybody knew she liked Sherlock, and this, well it must have been a bit of a surprise to her innocent mind. Shit. He hadn't meant to upset her, but it was finally like years worth of speculation about Holmes and Watson suddenly had some new, unarguable evidence.

"Come on, Molly." He held the door open, "Let me take you for a coffee."


End file.
